Inked
by Mistress Kizuna
Summary: He initially thought the tattoos were strange, unnatural on Alfred's body. But in time, Arthur grew to appreciate the dark imagery and the complex designs. America/England.


**Disclaimer: **I don't own Axis Powers Hetalia or any of the characters. I'm just an aspiring writer who likes writing fanfiction. I'm making no money off of this. Please don't sure me; all I've got is 38 cents and a lint ball.

* * *

A Nation is defined by a lot of things - its traditions, its values, its society, its politics, and most especially its citizens.

Citizens make up the identity of a Nation. Nations are very much like humans - they bleed, they hurt, they cheer, they love, they hate, they _feel_.

But not every citizen is good. Crime is a part of virtually every society. And when every citizen makes up the identity, the core being of their Nation, it is not surprising to see that even those that don't abide by the law, who deviate from the norms of society, will make up a part of their Nation's existence.

* * *

Alfred F. Jones, the United States of America, had many memories and experiences. A lifetime that stretched so much so that no mere mortal could possibly match it. He had many jobs, frequently being a soldier, a diplomat, and a political aide.

He was getting ready for his usual day as an aide to his boss, the president. It took a while for Alfred to get ready. Not necessarily because he spent an hour gelling his hair or because he could never figure out which suit would look better on him for the day.

No. The real reason was because he had to hide _them_.

The tattoos that adorned most of Alfred's upper body, from his chest, down to his stomach, on his back, and some on his arms as well. Many separate markings, all linked together in unity to tell the story of his life. Many of them were of rather dark images, detailing struggle, hardship and many of the other things that made up America, and what he was founded on.

These images were metaphors for many of the standing points in American history. On the right side of Alfred's abdomen, a phrase was written in elegant lettering, a symbol of the American Revolution, saying "Never tread upon my freedom again." On Alfred's back was an image of angels and demons, heaven and hell, locked into battle over the souls of humanity - the Civil War. On both of his shoulders on the front, were two eyes weeping tears of blood for the innocent lives lost in acts of senseless violence, from shootings and massacres to serial killers' sprees and many other things in between. On Alfred's left hip was a Hawaiian orchid slowly burning, representing Pearl Harbor. Adorning the center of his stomach was a small radioactive symbol, with a phrase written below it - "Now I am become death, the destroyer of worlds," uttered by J. Robert Oppenheimer, director of the Manhattan Project, after witnessing the Trinity test. On his right forearm was the American coat of arms, with his official birthday (7-4-1776) written underneath, and finally, on Alfred's left wrist was a compass, an icon of the age of exploration, the age that lead to Alfred's discovery, as well as his own thirst to explore the unknown.

Some of these tattoos weren't just for symbolism. Alfred also got them during some of his more rebellious days, when he went out into the worst sections of big cities and towns, and became mixed up with the gangs and the criminals in those parts. America was heralded as the land of freedom and opportunities, but in those places, there were no opportunities. Just a vicious cycle of hopelessness, hatred, violence and bloodshed. In those places, the gods will not save you.

Alfred became involved with every one of his citizen from every walk of life, including the criminals. He could see that many of them were certainly not the kinds of people any sane man or woman would want walking the streets, but there were those who literally had no other choice. They were trapped in a hopeless and cruel world where they were literally left to fend for themselves. Alfred saw how some of these criminals were simply doing what they could to survive. He wished he could do something about this; he wished his bosses could do something about this. But the reform would be staggering and hard to actually execute.

Alfred sighed as he let the memories of his days among the gangs and the streets flood his mind as he worked on hiding the ink. He wasn't shy about revealing his tattoos, but his job required looking respectable, so he had to cover up. It wasn't terribly hard - usually, he just wore a good shirt and suit. But other times, he really had to go out of his way to cover the ink up, having to resort to using certain make-up to spray-on tans.

The tattoos helped him look (and feel) tough and rebellious. In those ghettos, a tattoo was a sign of status. Alfred never actually revealed the true meaning of the tattoos to any human unless he felt he could trust them with the information. None of the other Nations knew about them either, except for his brother, Matthew "Canada" Williams, and Arthur "England" Kirkland.

As soon as Alfred made sure he looked good and respectable, with no ink visible, he left his home and went off to begin his day.

Today was the day of a meeting between the Nations. Everyone was usually on edge at these things, discussing hot-button issues. Alfred checked his watch impatiently and constantly, each second feeling like it was going on forever.

Besides, he barely paid much attention to the others. Their ideas were hardly ever as awesome as his.

Finally, the meeting was over. _'Good!'_ Alfred thought to himself, stretching out his sore muscles like a stray cat. He hated sitting down in one spot for very long periods of time, especially with a bunch of stiffs like the other Nations.

Everyone began saying farewell, and Alfred was no different. He walked up to Arthur, and they both knew exactly what they were going to do tonight.

* * *

Alfred was laying down in his hotel bed, waiting. Just thinking about what he and Arthur were about to do was enough to make him hard.

A knock on the door. Hopefully it was him.

Much to Alfred's joy, it _was_ Arthur.

It was like all the other times, but they never failed to be bored with it. Alfred and Arthur's lips would practically crash onto each other's as they frantically stripped each other naked. They were both desperate, and hungry, and this was the time when they didn't have to put up a face or an act. Behind closed doors, they could just be themselves, and for that, they were content.

Arthur took the time to look at Alfred's tattoos again. He knew what each of them stood for, and why Alfred wanted them. Normally, Arthur can't stand tattoos. He thought they were unnatural, a waste of money and the fact that they were permanent made the whole thing even more worthless in his eyes. But for Alfred, he was willing to make an exception.

This wasn't just because Arthur continued to have a soft spot for Alfred. He initially thought the tattoos were strange, unnatural on Alfred's body. But in time, Arthur grew to appreciate the dark imagery and the complex designs. The tattoos that adorned Alfred's body were all beautiful, all of them meaning something and were not things Alfred chose on a whim - they made up who Alfred was, the man Arthur loved.

Alfred's back was facing Arthur, who was savoring the sight of the detailed painting of inks of different shades of grey painting a picture of an epic struggle between Heaven and Hell on the canvas of Alfred's back. This was Arthur's most favorite, because of the stories it told and the metaphor the warring angels and demons against the backdrop of a damaged cathedral held.

Arthur's arms were wrapped around Alfred's body, his hands roaming over Alfred's chest and stomach. By now, Arthur memorized every line, every shape of every tattoo that Alfred had. He traced the radiation symbol on Alfred's stomach, relishing the soft moans that escaped Alfred's lips. Arthur kissed the nape of Alfred's neck before biting just hard enough to elicit gasps.

"Arthur..." Alfred gasped out, a hint of impatience in his voice. He wanted it _now._Arthur happily obliged. He took his now aching and hard cock, and positioned it against Alfred's entrance. After applying a generous amount of lubricant, he slowly, inch by inch, pushed his way in. For a moment, Arthur just stayed like this, balls deep inside of Alfred's body. After getting accustomed, Arthur began moving at a slow, steady pace.

Alfred moaned, babbles of pleasure coming out of his lips. Arthur's well calculated thrusts allowed him to be able to stroke Alfred's prostate with the head of his shaft, and the feeling of Alfred's muscles around him added to his own pleasure.

"Don't ever stop, Arthur," Alfred managed to gasp as he began reaching his completion. He felt Arthur's hand stroking his own aching erection and felt himself being pushed further and further off the edge.

"Never will," Arthur whispered, as he too felt his own end approaching. Trying to curb his desperate and frantic heartbeat, Arthur began to trail his tongue over Alfred's back. He traced the intricate design of Alfred's tattoo with his tongue, tasting the salty sweat that was forming over the ink blotted skin. Arthur only felt more excitement from this, and finally...

Alfred moaned, "Oh God, yeah, that's it," as he came, hot milky seed bursting from his body and onto Arthur's hand and the sheets of the bed. He felt like he would pass out from the sheer pleasure as he felt his muscles camping down on Arthur, and the feeling of being so filled added to the amazing sensations of his own orgasm.

Arthur followed closely afterwards, shuddering as he came. He bit down on Alfred's shoulder, as he tried to steady himself so that he wouldn't have to loudly proclaim his own pleasure. He did have a little dignity to uphold for himself.

Finally, the euphoria of their combined orgasm subsided, and all that was left was a peaceful afterglow, as Arthur slowly pulled out. The two of them collapsed against the bed, satisfied and spent.

Arthur took the time to observe the details of Alfred's other tattoos, like he always did. And right now, he noticed that those two eyes on Alfred's shoulders looked even more intense in the dimmed light of this hotel room, and the blood red ink that flowed like tears almost looked real. It was actually kind of scary.

Alfred could see Arthur's scrutinizing gaze boring into those tattoos. "What is it Arthur?" he asked, slightly yawning.

"Well, I was just wondering something. Why did you get those eyes on your shoulders?" Arthur asked back.

Alfred sadly smiled and answered, "I got this a year after the Columbine High School shootings. I got them as a sort of tribute to the people who died on that day when they didn't have to. I mean, those kids had their whole lives ahead of them, only to have it all taken away from them. I got these eyes crying blood not just for those people, but for other victims of horrible things too. Like the Trail of Tears, and the victims of serial killers. I guess it's only become more intense with time, don't you think?"

As Alfred explained this, Arthur noticed the tears that were almost forming in his former colony's blue eyes. He also noticed how Alfred was looking much thinner nowadays, which just wasn't right, because he always had an insatiable appetite, especially for those greasy, fattening kinds of "foods," if you could even call them that. This wasn't the body of someone who always proclaimed himself a hero - this was the body of a tired and old soul, and strangely enough, the detailed tattoos that were strewn over Alfred's torso only accentuated that. The way Alfred's ribs, collarbone, hips and spine were almost jutting through his skin made Arthur's stomach coil.

When Alfred took note of Arthur looking worriedly at his torso, he asked, "What's wrong Arthur?"

Arthur was sorely tempted to say that it was nothing, but his concern for his former charge (and now lover) made him say what was really on his mind. "It's just you look so… thin right now. Is it because of the recession?"

Alfred nodded. "Yeah, I have been losing weight lately," he admitted. "Haven't had much time to eat; I've been too busy these days, fixing the economy and trying to figure out what to do in the Middle East."

Arthur felt a pang of pity for Alfred, and a little bit of an understanding between them now. Being a world superpower was a double-edged sword; Arthur had been in the same situation, once a upon a time.

And then that smile returned to Alfred's face, optimistic and hopeful as always. "But don't worry - we'll get through this! We've been through way worse, haven't we?"

Arthur had to agree, "Yes, we have been through worse. But getting through this won't be easy."

Alfred laid back down, tired. He replied, "I know, but I'm sure as hell won't give up without a fight!"

And there it was again - that determination, almost limitless confidence. Arthur felt a small smile curling up in his lips as he realized why he fell in love with Alfred all over again.

And so, they turned off the lights, Alfred's inked torso fading away into the blackness like everything else. Leaving behind just two tired men sleeping.

* * *

**Finishing Notes:** And it's done! I've always wanted to do some kind of story involving Hetalia and tattoos. I just have an odd thing for tattoos and I personally find them beautiful (as long as they're tastefully done). I'm going to be writing a couple other stories centered around this "universe" of sorts (like Alfred's gangland adventures, and when he got a certain tattoo). Expect them to come pretty soon. I also will draw a fanart of the tattoos I described, just to make the visualizations easier too.

As always, constructive criticism and commentary is greatly appreciated. Flames are not welcome.


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